Harry Potter and the Rise of Balor
by Paige The Harmony Lover
Summary: For millennia, The Line of Balor: King of the Demons and Reaper of Death, has been quashed and suppressed, watered down by a Shadowed Order until only a trace of its true power is left within the bloodline of Potter. But now, the Demon King has now awoken. The time of destruction is now, and Harry Potter has been chosen as his vessel. H/Hr, Harmony, AU Evil, Manipulative Dumbledore
1. Opening

_Harry Potter and the Rise of Balor_

 _Can we fight our true nature?  
Become something we are not?  
Can we use our light?  
To conceal our darkness?  
To bury the demon below?_

 _ **Finn Balor**_

 _ **Chapter One – The Opening**_

On a quiet, open little street in Surry, the residences of Privet Drive were all taking advantage of the good weather. With lawns freshly trimmed, cars bright and sparkling in their drives, with the world seemingly trotting along at its more than reasonable pace; however, one resident of this prim and conservative street was far from welcome or accepted.

Known as the grubby offshoot of the more than likeable Dursley family, Harry James Potter was more of a blight on the street than anyone really understood. Yes, his hair was never neat and tidy, through no fault of his own, his clothing was always baggy and worn in a chaotic scruff, owing to his overly large trousers and peeling trainers. Again, unbeknownst to the residents, who naturally assumed that the boy enjoyed adorning garments several sizes above his lean and athletic frame, this was because the only raiment that was bestowed upon him were old hand-me-downs and discarded tat from his overly weighted cousin. These things, however, were but trifles to the one trait of character that was in his power to control, the one which also garnered him this appalling treatment from his blood relations. The trait that Harry James Potter, scruffy, youthful and ostracised, was a wizard.

Harry pounded the streets of Little Whinging, posture burdened and his stride lacks. In his hand, he carried a long, thin stick, something that the residents may assume to be the sapling of a much larger branch. In truth, the item Harry carried was a source of power beyond anything these simple Muggle's could ever comprehend.

A wand.

Harry had tossed caution to the wind, following the end of his fifth year at Hogwarts, the famous school of Witchcraft and Wizardry which at one point had served as the only place he could truly call home. Harry's upper lip curled into a furious snarl as he contemplated what he was going to do; he looked down at his hands, could almost feel the power rising from The Earth as fury spread throughout his body. Why? Why had she not squealed? Why had she not broken as so many of her own victims had?

' _Righteous anger won't hurt me for long … I'll show you how it is done, shall I? I'll give you a lesson_.'

The words of that murderer: Bellatrix Lestrange resounded deep from within the fathoms of his mind. It had been her that had caused this pain deep within his heart, when that evil bitch had sent Sirius, Harry's Godfather, his only true family, her own cousin, through the Veil of Death.

Harry felt the tears return to his eyes, felt his entire body tremble with a cold, dark, hatred. At this moment, Harry didn't care about being a wizard, didn't care that his true enemy had returned to flesh, blood, and bone with a means of enslaving the world. At this moment, all Harry cared about was seeing that bitch of a woman lying dead at his feet.

It came to him in a subtle whisper, a dark, ominous voice, at the edge of hearing, almost like the words found in a dream. It breathed into his ear, alien, portentous, and powerful.

' _Rebmuls a sa hdaeried ra nekow nomed na ta. Leiús liacso nomed na ta_."

Harry felt a slow, creeping chill enter his spine. His rage festered, pushed into the deepest recesses of his soul, while his eyes, for the most fleeting of moments, sifted with darkness. Inside, Harry felt something snap, though his mind, his body and his soul remained. This was not a breaking of a man, it was a breaking of chains, a destruction of wills placed upon him ever since Voldemort had first tried to strike him down as little more than a child.

The surge was silent, exhibited no pulse, no shock, no force. But across the country, three people felt this rending, this gathering of intense power: Albus Dumbledore, Tom Marvolo Riddle, and Hermione Granger.

Hermione sat up from her position on her bed, the book she had been nosing through tumbling from her hands and onto the floor. Her heart began to pound, felt her breathing heighten. She had never felt anything like this before. Herself a studied and attune witch, Hermione was never far from the either, the stream of energy that bestowed upon witches and wizards the power of the arcane.

This shift was one of building devastation, an insurgence of power so great that it could only come from one source: The awakening, the opening of the Eye of Balor. Erupting to her feet Hermione hastened to her bookshelf and scanned the spines, reciting their titles as she searched.

"Arcane spells of the Norse Gods… Pagan Magic in the Muggle World… Ahh Yes!"

Hermione pulled the leather and gold bound book from its place of rest: The Rise of Balor. Immediately the dark-haired witch set the book down on her desk, throwing open its pages and began to speed through.

"Balor, king of the demons and slumbering god… yadda, yadda, yadda …" Hermione flicked through page after page. She found the page she was looking for, taking in the ancient depictions of Balor, the demon who ruled all. He who slept in silence, his single eye of destruction closed until the time of renewal. Only then, when he had chosen his vessel, when the world was to be remade, only then did the Demon king open his eye and reap his will upon the world.

"Why me…?" Hermione breathed, wondering why she had been the one to feel the opening of the eye. She felt no different, knew she was not the one Balor had chosen to bestow his power upon. But then… Hermione closed the book tight with a _snap_ , her concern making her reckless, even if there was more to read. Reaching for her inkwell and parchment Hermione readied herself to inform Professor Dumbledore on what she had felt. He had to know, he would understand why this was happening.

A hollow, cautious roil curdled in his core, ink dripping from her quill and onto the parchment in a soft dripping resonance. No… for some reason Hermione didn't want to reach out to Dumbledore, her heart knotting in protest as it fought to override her head.

Instead, Hermione cleansed the parchment of ink, recharged her quill, and began to scribe a letter to Harry.


	2. Shadow Council

_**Chapter Two – Shadow Council**_

The ambience around the cemetery of Godric's Hollow was thick with misery and swathed in shadows. The late afternoon sky seemed suddenly filled with thunderheads, lightning streaming between these gathering masses like the warring munitions of the Gods.

The man who stood at one of the graves wore robes as black as the raven's wing, his blood red eyes concealed behind a powerful cloaking charm as he gazed upon the symbol which adorned the graves of James and Lily Potter.

Tom Marvolo Riddle, believed to be the greatest threat to mankind ever to walk the earth, offered the deceased couple's graves a salute, kissing his first finger with pursed lips before pressing said knuckle to his cold, porcelain brow.

"So you've felt it too…" a strong, ancient voice that which made Riddle's upper lip twist in a snare, resounded from the shadows behind him. Riddle had felt his presence the moment he had appeared at the edge of the cemetery; the one-man Tom Riddle feared almost as much as the reborn destructor, the one-man who had controlled his destiny ever since he had first discovered him at the orphanage as a youth.

"Yes… It appears you were correct; the Demon King has awoken." Riddle's voice almost… almost seemed to quiver as the speaker stepped out from the shadows. Ancient, cunning and powerful, Albus Dumbledore gazed upon the man so many believed to be his enemy. If the wizarding world were to see this assembly, decades of blindness would be removed from the eyes of the masses.

"You had just one task, Tom," Dumbledore hissed, his voice sounding nothing like the kind, caring gentleman he used in matters of public relations. "All you had to do was kill the boy, why must you fail so frequently?"

Tom Riddle hissed at the chastisement, lifted his pale head, turning away from his place of observance and faced the ancient wizard. Casting aside the concealment charm Tom Riddle exposed his true visage, eyes of crimson fury, serpentine face and lipless mouth bearing a snarl of contempt.

"You see me… don't you, Dumbledore? The boy has mutilated me, I am nothing more than a mask of horror, my power a mere wreck of its former self. If you wanted the boy dead, Dumbledore, then why haven't you killed him?" Riddle snapped, his rage palpable as he exposed his ugly, maimed face a by-product of the Demon King's retaliation. Even then, at only a mere baby, Harry Potter had possessed enough power to defeat even one as powerful as him. Dumbledore chuckled darkly, his partner's anger merely a trifle in the grand scheme of things.

"You know full well the reason for that, Tom. I must play my role in this pretence, same as you must. Your concubine did well in killing the boys Godfather, Sirius was beginning to see beyond our veil of deceit. It is that tragic loss, I believe, that has seen the Demon King open his eye and awaken within Harry. However, the boy is not our priority. He is easily controlled and manipulated, he knows nothing of the power that flows through his veins. It is the consort we must find."

"The consort? But… I thought."

"You thought wrong, once more, Tom," Dumbledore snapped, shooting down Riddle's recollection with a second rebuke. "Ginny Weasley is little more than a fangirl, a whelp of an entire generation of hero worshipers. No, the consort is one far more powerful, and it is her you must find. If we can destroy the consort the Demon Kings power with rend, you know full well that when James Potter died Lily's power shattered. We must do the same once more."

"Who do you think she is?" Tom enquired, a list of possible consorts playing over in his mind.

Dumbledore smiled, a dark, vicious grin.

"It will be either Miss Lovegood or Miss Granger."

"A second Mudblood?" Tom stated, the soul of Balor and his Queen, Cethlenn, had passed through the generations, but when Lily Potter was found to be the vessel of Cethlenn, the Order had, at first, rejected this. Mudblood's were but blights, a mutation in the pure stream of magic, it seemed even Dumbledore did not believe the blood of Cethlenn would pass through into a second Muggle-Born witch.

"Lifemates are difficult to gauge, but like you, I do not enjoy the prospect of a lesser blood standing at the side of the reborn Demon King. Miss Granger is both wise and dangerous, her power of arcane control is some of the most impressive I have ever witnessed. Also, Harry cares for her, deeply, she could be used against him, should we not be able to control him, or should he have some notion of rebellion. I will consider this further as time permits."

Dumbledore curled a tuft of his long, silver beard around his finger, thinking, contemplating. He deep blue eyes sparkled with cunning, as they always did when the ancient wizard had concluded his thought.

"I shall deal with Potter and miss Granger, in the meantime have some of those minion's you control target miss Lovegood. See to it that it is enough for us to know if she is the consort."

"What of the Weasley's?" Riddle questioned of his partner, speaking of the family of Purebloods who had garnered so much love from the young Demon King. Dumbledore gave a gesture of dismissal.

"They are little more than peasants. Let the boy have a family for a while, it only gives us another loved one to keep him chained to us. Now, we both have things to deal with, Tom. Make sure you do as you are told. Until we meet again."

Dumbledore and Riddle acknowledged the parting, the pair gripping their wrists in a gesture of respect. Turning away with a sweep of his robes and a strong, refined, footfall Albus Dumbledore trekked away from his partner, Riddle's eyes burning into his back before a swathe of shadow consumed him. There was a sound, a flash of lightning, and then both the old man and the pale wizard disappeared into the ether.

 _ **Guest Review Reply**_ \- _Dear The 16th Doctor. Thank you so much for your review, it was both inspiring and very entertaining. I make no qualms on how much Finn Balor has inspired this story. Fergal Devitt has been an inspiration to me long before his NXT days (Which you may also have seen and enjoyed, if you have then you know what I mean, if not please check out his early stuff, you will not be disappointed). However, like Finn Balor the persona this story is also inspired greatly by Irish and Celtic Mythology. Entities such as the Famorians, works of literature such as the Ulster Cycle and other_ _facets_ _such as Paganism and works of famous fantastical fiction have gone into this work. I do hope you take this, not as a backlash, but as a gesture of appreciation for your words. Thank you for your review and I hope to hear from you soon. Oh and #RomanSucks_


	3. Letters of Love and Warning

_**Chapter Three – Letters of Love and Warning**_

Harry returned home to Number Four Privet Drive with the sudden resonance of a storm ringing in his ears. Placing his key in the door, an act not so much of trust but of necessity if the Dursley's wanted him out of the way, Harry entered the abode and crossed the hallway towards the kitchen.

As he entered aunt Petunia lifted her head from gazing into the oven, the smell of freshly roasted lamb a heavenly indulgence, though as her gaze met her nephews they lacked the glare of solid dislike that for so many years had been his greeting. She seemed different, more humble, seeming to sense the subtle change in her nephew, his straighter posture, his strong frame, his eyes which seemed not so beaten down, but instead appeared to sparkle with power.

Drawing an uneasy gesture between them, Harry crossing the flawless kitchen towards the sink, pouring himself a glass of water, his tongue suddenly parched.

"Harry…?" Aunt Petunia spoke, her words ignored as easily as a ball thrown at a rhino's hide. Harry downed his drink with pace, washed out the glass with hot water and placed it rim down on the draining board, his grip now firm against the countertop and his posture arching with annoyance.

"What…?" the young man snapped, his gaze now reflected in the kitchen window as he saw his aunt's reflection, herself standing cautiously some paces behind him. Her hands were folded before her chest, her fear, her concern both annoying and invigorating to him. All he had ever wanted was for Aunt Petunia or her lout of a husband to care for him. Instead, they had made his life a misery with both psychological and verbal abuse. In that time Harry had contemplated running away, finding some way to live forever in the magical world, his true home, his true place of happiness. However, every year he would return, back to this house, back to the favouritism and back to work, in the hopes that… someday, somehow, he might win the love and respect of his only true surviving relatives.

Aunt Petunia lowered her gaze, suppressing a hiccup as he slowly turned, frame leaning back confidently against the body of the sink and looked his aunt up and down. She was nervous, that was clear and Harry softened his aggressive stance. Petunia Dursley stepped back, taking a seat at the chat table and gestured for Harry to take the opposite seat. The young man frowned, was this some kind of joke? Some build up to his ever-heightening level of chores?

"Please…" Petunia pleaded, gesturing once more to the opposite seat. "This is important."

Intrigue suddenly flared within Harry. Cautiously, distrustful eyes glaring at his aunt, Harry took the seat and steepled his fingers. A gesture that reminded Aunt Petunia so much of certain male wizard.

"What is it?" Harry questioned, snapping Aunt Petunia out of her recollections. Petunia Dursley straightened her blouse, fidgeted openly with unease before reaching into the pocket of her pinny and pulling out what looked to be a parchment letter, accompanied by a gorgeous red and gold Phoenix tail feather.

Harry started at the sight of the obviously magically delivered letter. He offered his hand, gesturing for Aunt Petunia to give him the note. However, instead of placing said item into his waiting hand Petunia Dursley merely slid the letter across the table towards him, gesturing to the tail feather as it immitted a series of golden glitters as it scraped across the surface.

Understanding, Harry opened the letter, itself sealed with Dumbledore's personal crest: A phoenix reborn from the ashes. Shaking open the note within, Harry began to read.

 _Dear Harry,_  
 _I understand that you are not in the best of moods with me. However, I quite understand your anger and I repeat that I am sorry for Sirius's death. However, it is not to offer counsel for your sorrow that I am writing, instead, I send you this message to warn you. Members of the Order, some unknown even to me, have been subjugated to the Imperious curse. Be wary and watchful of those you love, even those such as Mr Weasley or Miss Granger. I am in no way of informing you who is friend and who is foe. If anything, unusual happens I implore you to inform me as quickly as possible. I hope to see you back at Hogwarts very soon._

 _Yours Sincerely_  
 _Albus Dumbledore._

Harry felt trickles of sweat seeping down the back of his neck… Members of… The Imperious curse? Harry glanced up, scanning his aunt for signs of control. Petunia Dursley wavered under that gaze and Harry sincerely doubted that his aunt, despite this unusual behaviour, would have handed over this letter if she were Imperioused. Harry expressed his thanks to his aunt, pushing back his chair and retired to his room.

To his surprise, Hedwig, his beautiful snowy owl, rested on the post of his bed, something what looked like a note attached to her leg. The owl hooted in greeting, holding out her leg and nipping affectionately at her master's fingers as he brushed her feathers.

Carefully, Harry untied the parchment letter from his companion's leg, unravelling his second magical letter this evening, just as a roar of thunder resounded from the heavens. Harry crossed over to the windowsill, took a seat in the bay and opened the parchment scroll. His heart seemed to flutter in his chest as he recognised Hermione fair and pretty script. Cautiously he studied the letter, sighting no unease, no resistance, just soft, flowing text. He read on.

 _Dearest Harry_  
 _I'm sorry to write to you at such short notice_  
 _However something has happened I really feel needs your attention._  
 _Around 17:30pm I felt something strange, something powerful shift in the ether_  
 _(The magical tide which bestows power to our kind)._  
 _It was something incredible, something dangerous_  
 _Something I fear could involve you._  
 _If you did not feel anything then please ignore this letter._  
 _If you did, then we must talk._  
 _I am going to be in the Leaky Cauldron at 07:15am tomorrow. I will wait an hour for you._  
 _Please, I stress this, do not come if nothing has happened._  
 _I really need to understand what is going on._  
 _I hope to see you on the Hogwarts Express when we go back to school._  
 _I do hope you have felt nothing and that this is just a false alarm. However, I fear the worst._

 _Sent to you with the deepest love_  
 _Hermione_

Harry stared at the writing, looking down at his wrist watch and checking the time. He frowned. 17:30 would have been around the time of that weird, uneasy shift. When… he tried to think back, his mind suddenly blank and void of thought of any time that had come before. He swallowed. He had felt something… something strange, something powerful shift within him. Hermione couldn't have known about that, nor could any Death Eater.

Harry felt his instincts flare. If this was some kind of Imperious trick there it would just be a matter of playing on his friendship to have him meet with the woman who was also his closest and best friend. They would not need to go through this elaborate, fancy ruse. His fingertips caressed the last statement of the letter: Sent to you with the deepest love. His heart flittered and danced beneath his breast. What…? What was this?

His thoughts returned to Dumbledore's letter. No… he would keep this private, he would meet Hermione tomorrow, but that didn't mean he would be without caution.

Rain pitter-pattered against his window, Harry looked out as the street lights of Private Drive began to glow, wondering what Hermione had felt, and how each of them were involved.

Aunt Petunia called forth his name from downstairs, summoning him for dinner, and Harry found, all of a sudden, that he had no appetite at all.


	4. Words of the Consort

_**Chapter Four – Words of the Consort**_

At 06:45am Harry removed himself from his bed, his dreams a strange, emotionally provocative sifting of desires rather than his normal night terrors. It was a relief to wake up not streaming with sweat and heated with rage, but rather with a richer, more licentious, more stimulating sense of self. However, those dreams were one he would be sure to keep private, even in those moments of conversation with Ron and Hermione… most definitely from Hermione.

None of the Dursley's were awake at this hour, itself a warm and lazy Sunday. Quietly, so as to avoid an unnecessary confrontation. Harry had a quick shower, cold and simmering to his desires, before adorning jeans, shirt, and dragonhide boots. He made himself a quick breakfast of cornflakes in the kitchen looking towards the digital clock on the radio, making sure to keep a constant eye on its ever-changing dial. He watched the minute's change over. He longed to listen to the news or at least some music to ease the passage of time. He looked hard at the clock, he blinked.

The power dial shifted, a light drumming sifting through the speakers and into his ears.

Michael Jackson's distinctly voice issued, his words startlingly true and adding fuel to the fight of emotions Harry already felt within.

 _Beat me, hate me  
You can never break me  
Will me, thrill me  
You can never kill me  
Do me, Sue me  
Everybody do me  
Kick me, strike me  
Don't you black or white me_

Harry shut off the radio quickly to avoid any further noise. He pricked his ears, expecting the Dursley's to roar down their displeasure, but the heavy sleepers, something that was required when in the same house as Vernon Dursley, did not seem to have been disturbed. The hour was getting closer. Pulling on Dudley's old jacket, Harry ran his fingers through his hair. Why he was suddenly so self-conscious of his appearance when meeting Hermione was confusing, but he felt he had to make at least some type of effort.

Washing up his breakfast bowl, picking up his keys which resided by the door, Harry cast one last look back at the Dursley's abode. For some reason this felt like a new chapter, a new era in his life, even if he had one more year here. He would leave this place not a beaten, broken, little boy, but for reasons he hoped Hermione could explain, Harry suddenly felt stronger, more liberated, the feeling of broken chains returning and he smiled, gestured to the house that had been a place lacking love for so long, and stepped out into the world a new man.

Harry stepped some paces away from little Whinging, away from where the noise of magical transportation would be more noticeable. The air was still fresh and moist with morning dew and the sun was just peeking over the distant heights, when Harry held out his wand at the side of the road.

A colossal _BANG_ resounded from the distance. There was a flash, a sweeping of wind, and the Knight Bus pulled up just in front of him. Harry had expected Stan Shunpike to be his conductor, the pimpled youth the one who had helped him during the year Sirius had escaped from Azkaban. Instead, a fine woman stood at the rear of the bus, hand resting on the rail and ticket reel already winding off Harry's ticket.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard, my name is Amanda Snodgrass and I'll be…" The woman's voice trailed off from her introduction to sight the lightning bolt scar upon Harry's brow.

"Oh my goodness… you're-"

"Harry Potter." Harry snapped, annoyed at this woman's lack of professionalism. He should have gotten used to his blemish taking centre stage in his life. But for some reason beyond his current level of knowledge, this fame felt false and ill-deserved. After all, it was because of this scar that had seen Sirius be murdered at the hands of that bitch Bellatrix.

The woman apologised repeatedly for her gawking, even going so far as to offer Harry free transport. However, Harry placed eleven sickles in her hand and stated that his destination was the Leaky Cauldron.

Amanda Snodgrass quickly rapped on the window where Ernie the driver sat stationed behind the wheel. The Knight Buses engine ticked over with many clatters and bangs.

"VIP to London, please Ernie," Amanda stated, offering Harry a flirtatious smile. Harry shook his head and palmed his face. It took two stops for the Knight Bus to arrive outside the entrance to the magical pub. Amanda Snodgrass helped Harry off the bus, rattling forth a stream of admiration, her words causing Harry's cheeks to glow a deep shade of scarlet. Harry finished the conversation with a smile, the Knight Bus boomed forth and disappeared, leaving Harry feeling all the more embarrassed.

Checking his watch Harry saw he was just on the hour, he wondered if Hermione was already here. Once more, for reasons Harry could only decree as manners, he straightened the lapel of his jacket, ran his fingers through his wealth of jet black hair, and observed himself in one of the Leaky Cauldron's grubby windows. Did he look good? Why did he care? After all, he was only here to meet Hermione... that thought made him check his hair once again, a flitter of butterflies entering his stomach.

Harry breathed deeply, and stepped within the grotty, magical abode.

Harry entered the wizarding public house with a different, more powerful ambience. People who recognised him did not gape, they did not approach, nor did they whisper as he passed them. Instead many averted their eyes, gazes lowered back to their drinks as he crossed the saloon towards the bar. The only person stationed at the bar was a young woman, her hair a rich cascade of curls which drew Harry's eyes immediately to her rounded, well-formed rear. She sat with an air of confidence, sipping what appeared to be a bottle of butterbeer. She wore a fine, red, dress which clung intimately to shapely curves and a flowing waist. Harry didn't know why, but the childish drink did not suit what he could see of this woman. She seemed more like the sort who would be sipping either a glass of full-bodied wine, or maybe even something more expensive. Desire coursed through him, his heart already streaming adrenaline and lust through his body as he approached.

The girl had a fine figure, blooming curves filling out what appeared to be a still developing woman. Harry swallowed, coming to stand beside the girl, emboldened to at least try and entertain himself before Hermione arrived… and felt his heart erupt from his chest.

"Her… Hermione…?" Harry was stunned. His fair, beautiful, best friend, turned her head to look at him. Desire smouldered in his eyes. She was stunning, her pretty face now accentuated with light layers of makeup: eyeshadow and lip gloss, allowing her natural beauty to shine through. Her eyes, always so deep and wise, now gleamed and sparkled with pleasure. Her lips curled into a smile and she stepped from the stool and embraced Harry in one of her deep and endearing hugs.

"Oh, Harry… You felt it too!" Harry didn't know what he felt, all he knew now was that his heart was pounding like a beast in his chest, and in this very moment, Harry knew he would never look at this girl… this woman, the same ever again.

Dumbledore's warning resounded suddenly from the depths of his lust, passion and raw emotion that was bombarding the now hormone battered youth as he pulled Hermione tighter to his frame.

Harry whispered in her ear.

"What animal saved us from Professor Lupin?"

"What…? I don't-" Hermione faltered, her passionate hug suddenly deflating at this strange and unexpected enquiry. "Buckbeak… the Hippogriff."

Harry sighed and loosened his embrace with an air of relief.

"I knew it was you, Hermione…" Harry said, sounded unexpectedly cautious. "I just… I had to be sure."

"Be sure of what?" Hermione breathed, she and Harry took their seats back and at the bar, their hands subconsciously linking beside them. Harry reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out Dumbledore's letter.

"You weren't the only one who wrote to me." Hermione frowned, hands releasing the other with a burst of longing as she took the letter and began to read.

Hermione gazed at the piece of parchment paper with an air of one who had just received a vicious blow to the body. Her eyes continued to scan the text three times more before finally folding up the letter and sliding it across the table towards her best friend. Harry did not reach to retrieve it, instead, his gaze continued to focus on her as she sat with her fingertips pressed to her lips in shock. Her face was flooded with fear and she shuddered, an action unfelt because of the temperature of the room but from the implications of what she had just read in that letter.

"You okay?" Harry breathed, reaching forth to place a comforting hand on her shoulder. Hermione wiped her face with her hands, breathed, and settled into a mask of composure.

"Harry…" Hermione's voice trembled, turning to face her friend, terror clear in his eyes. "You trust me… don't you?"

Harry smiled weakly confused by her question. What did she mean by that? Of course, he trusted her. Harry nodded gently.

"Yes…" Harry said wondering where the hell she was going with this? "I trust you more than anyone,"

"Even Dumbledore?"

Harry blinked. Harry trusted his mentor with his life. Dumbledore had been the one person, other than Hermione herself, who had never betrayed him. Even his secondary companion: Ron Weasley, had abandoned him in times of great pressure and strife, when Harry had needed him most. That single act, even if Ron had tried to patch things up, still lay deep in Harry's heart. Ron's betrayal was something neither Hermione or Dumbledore had ever…

Harry paused in his thoughts, replaying Hermione's question and began a serious contemplation. In his life, the one foundation stone he had always had by his side was Hermione. Even Dumbledore had once… His thoughts sifted back to fourth year, the Tri-Wizard Tournament. A time when Dumbledore had offered him up as bait to Voldemort, when he knew he had the power to stop him. No... only Hermione had truly stood by him unwaveringly. Yes, he did trust her, trusted her more than even than wizard he looked up to so much.

In response to her question… Harry nodded.

Tears entered Hermione's eyes. Taking away the space that separated them Hermione flung her arms around her companion in another, deeper, more meaningful embrace. Harry felt his heart pick up once more, Hermione pulling back to look her friend deep in the eye. Hermione gathered up the parchment letter, releasing Harry from her clutches and placing a kiss upon his cheek.

"I really care about you Harry, too much to see you swept up in this ensuing conflict."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, both he and Hermione speaking in hushed tones, until Hermione shook her head. Her experience last year at the Hogs Head had spooked her, and she stepped away, taking Harry by the hand and leading him towards the main fireplace of the public house.

"We need to talk, come on!" Hermione practically threw Harry into the flameless hearth, herself also stepping within. Hermione spoke long, deep, and clear before tossing a handful of Floo powder at their feet. A whoosh of emerald green flames surrounded them, the pair soon sent spinning into the whirling vortex of the floo network. Harry clutched onto Hermione, themselves speeding passed houses and linked firesides before the network regurgitated them out into what appeared to be a rich and fine abode.

"Where…?" Harry coughed, exhaling up a lungful of soot, Hermione dusting herself down before assisting him to his feet.

"Welcome to my home?" Hermione breathed sounding almost embarrassed. Harry blinked, sighting a rich décor that would put the house proud Dursley's to shame. The walls were aligned with photos and artwork, some depicting the English countryside, other clearly shown to be magical in their origins. The occupants moved from frame to frame, gesturing towards the pair in hearty gestures and happy smiles. The house was fine and articulate, without the feel of brashness and overly clean ambience found in Number Four Privet Drive.

Harry dusted off the soot from his jeans, looking around before seeing Hermione blush.

"It's a lovely place," Harry said with complete truth.

"It's not much, but my parents are pretty open to the magical world," Hermione stated with pride. Harry turned towards the mantelpiece whereupon Hermione's Hogwarts photos resided. The young man could practically see his best friends evolution as he observed the pictures. Her beauty growing more and more prominent as she developed from childhood into that of the beautiful woman who now stood beside him.

Harry took down what appeared to be Hermione's fifth-year photo… he could now see why Cho Chang had been so intimidated by their friendship. Hermione practically torpedoed Cho in beauty… how had he never see that before?

"You okay…?" Hermione asked, an air of caution in her tone. Harry swallowed. This wasn't right, he should not be having these lustful thoughts towards his best friend. That's all she was to him, she felt no romance, no passion towards him, unlike the desire that was coursing through his veins. Harry shook the thoughts from his mind and smiled at her.

"Yeah just… forget it." Hermione frowned, saw how flushed Harry now looked. Her eyes raked his form. Beneath those horrible hand-me-downs was a fine and handsome young man. Hermione lowered her gaze, embraced herself and smiled, a blush of rouge tinting her cheeks at the sheer audacity of her desire. Harry was her friend, her best friend, he was her bro… no, no she couldn't think that way, not with the way her heart ached in his presence.

Ron was her brother, their rivalry and squabbles more of a sibling act than anything romantic. In truth, Hermione had felt these feelings ever since third year, when she and Harry had rescued Sirius from the Ministry. However, Hermione was not reckless with her heart, and she knew Harry only saw her as a friend, despite how deeply she wanted him not to.

An awkward silence passed between them, both Harry and Hermione trapped in internal conflict until Hermione looked up and gestured to the stairs.

"Come on, I need to show you this." Hermione practically run from the living room, Harry looking after her as he followed at his own, confused pace. Ascending the staircase Harry saw Hermione step into her bedroom, a place filled with school supplies, book shelves and a writing desk. Her bed was made with depictions of hunting wolves, Harry stood framed in the doorway, not wanting to intrude.

"Come in," Hermione breathed in exasperation. "I'm not going to jump you."

"I wish you would," Harry breathed in sarcasm.

"What did you say…?"

"Nothing..." Harry lied in defence, his cheeks flaming nova as he entered the bedroom before he came to stand beside Hermione at her desk. Upon the table s Hermione had laid a large, leather bound, book: _The Rise of Balor_ embroiled in gold at the heart of the tome.

"What's this about, Hermione?" Harry asked, confused. Hermione picked up the book and crossed the room towards her bed, whereupon she sat down at edge of her mattress, the book resting on her lap. Her fingers joined at the tips as she observed her best friend through the steeple of her hands.

Harry felt the world shift, the feeling of power resonating from Hermione to such a degree that it made the very walls strain in protest.

"Harry…" Hermione's voice was strong and confident, her eyes slowly darkening, her lips curling into a smile. "I think some people have misconceptions about me. When some call me a _know-it-all,_ I say _I'm a seeker of wisdom_. What others call a _bossy attitude_ , I call _the air of authority_ , and what some may call being _shy_ , I call being _cautious with my heart_. I know your history Harry… but do you know mine? Do you know about the legends and the myths?"

Hermione's words caused a faint rustle of caution to seep down Harry's spine; however, he and Hermione continued their gaze, while at the edge of hearing a dark, ominous, voice whispered in the air between them.

Harry gestured for Hermione to continue, her voice growing darker, more powerful with every word.

"Do you know about the Tuatha Dé Danann, Harry? Those who fight beside all warriors in battle, their spears and shields of gleaming light empowering those of humanity to stand against us, and what we stand for in this world? What about the monsters, Harry? The Dullahan? The headless rider whose black steed carries him across the land, whose head, clutched in its grip, splits into a hideous grin that spells the death of all it sees? Do you hear the Banshees, Harry? Whose wail's signal the end… do you hear them screaming? These are not just stories, Harry. They are a source of power. When a warrior enters a great battle; when one knows that their limbs and their flesh are not enough, they can tap into the power of these creatures and become a force greater than themselves. I know you have your demons, Harry, but I am here, here to tell you that these demons are but restraints on the force I see within you. Look into my eyes Harry, and know that I will stand beside you, no matter what. Be it against Voldemort, or against any who seek your destruction. Embrace it, Harry… embrace the power inside you, embrace the man you truly are. As you see I now have."

Harry took an involuntary step forward; Hermione's words evoking both concern and a dark pleasure to his soul. He offered her his hand, Hermione's eyes lifting to meet his as he pulled her up to meet him. His fingers sifted through her hair, felt his heart pound, his blood licking torrents of flame through his veins as he sort a greater connection. Both he and Hermione closed their eyes, and drew forth into the space that separated them.


	5. The Eruption of Grief

_**Chapter Five – The Eruption of Grief**_

The fear of losing Hermione corrupted any desire, any passion, any surge of the searing emotion that had once burned so brightly in Harry's heart. It was a sense of caution, a notion of doubt insisting that, should he cross this border, this boundary, this unspoken divide that kept himself free from falling do deeply in love with her, then he would be left vulnerable, prone to an even greater sense of pain, a pain that would dwarf even his eternal agony at the loss of losing Sirius.

The memories of losing his Godfather, the only man who had loved him anywhere near like a father, issued forth from the depths of the abyss, like one of those screaming creatures Hermione had spoken of in that deep, dark moment that had past between them; and though he longed to feel the kiss he _knew_ was forthcoming, Harry could not face the pain, the loss, the agony of experiencing a fully broken heart.

Instead, Harry lifted his lips away from hers, Hermione opening her eyes with what looked like confusion in her gaze, and lightly kissed her brow in a gesture of platonic affection.

Harry could practically feel his soul screaming from within the depths of him, the darkness, the mysterious power that had encapsulated each of them now all but broken, when Harry drew back and smiled. He could not hide his disappointment from his best friend. But this was the only way, the only option he had, in a world where every soul has a choice. Harry knew he had no choice in this matter.

He would keep Hermione distant, he would feel affection for her beyond her own sisterly love in a slow, longing, call. The loneliness of his heart was not enough to risk it breaking when, eventually, he would loss her. As he knew he most certainly would, should Voldemort ever learn that he actually _loved_ someone.

Hermione hid her pain well, showed not the heartache or the disappointment that had doused her flames of passion like a deluge of ice water upon her soul. Instead, Hermione folded her hands behind her back and merely smiled at her kind, gentle friend.

"Think about what I said, please Harry,"

Harry cupped her face with his hands, caressed her cheeks longingly with each of his thumbs as he tried to express the desire he still felt trying to pull him forth towards her once more. He could not do it, he could not risk losing Hermione. She was too important, too precious to him. Even if by some miracle, she felt the same as he did, Harry knew he was not worth dying for, or being tortured by that hellish bitch. Nobody was worth that much to anybody, most certainly not for someone like him.

"I…" Harry's touch drifted down to the side of her neck, caressed her shoulders affectionately before trailing goosepimples down the exposed flesh of her arms. His touch came to rest at her hips, felt her breathing quicken as he struggled against a part of himself that could not accept this decision. "I really love you… Hermione."

Hermione blinked, moistened her lips, rested her hands on his as those words shattered any hope she might have had in believing they could be more than just simple friends. He… he loved her… but her mind insisted that it was not in the same way she felt for him. He was speaking platonically, like the brother she had once thought him to be. Was that what he meant? Surely he couldn't mean…?

She tried to believe it. Tried to insist that he had said those things out of true affection and love. But it just seemed to ridiculous, if he loved her affectionately, why hadn't he kissed her when she had been so obviously willing? Something was happening, something was wrong within his heart, and she was determined to help him no matter which way she could.

"I… I love you too… Harry." Hermione said, speaking was all the passion she possessed.

The young man smiled and lifted the crown of her wand hand to his lips. Harry gently kissed the knuckles of her hand in a chivalrous expression of departure. Even now, when her love was so broken and damaged, Harry found a way to restore her hope with that one, simple gesture. Harry Potter… ever the gentleman.

Harry offered her a smile that no brother could offer his sibling, a naughty glimmer in his eye as he gestured for his departure, and stepped towards the door. Harry cast one final glance back at the woman he loved, his heart pleading for her to call him back. To see, to accept that his love for her was not broken.

She didn't.

"I'll see you soon." Harry breathed. Hermione nodded, gestured in parting with a soft, gentle wave, and allowed Harry to walk out of her room and out of her heart.

Harry closed the door, resting his back against the sealed portal with sheer frustration raging in his soul. Why…? Why did he have to be so weak? Hermione had wanted him to kiss her! She hadn't protested, had not stopped him, yet that sheer, infuriating desire to protect his loved ones had won over any selfish sense of longing he had _again_!

He needed to think, to talk to someone, anyone about these feelings he felt inside. Harry practically roared for the floo network to carry him to the Burrow, the Weasley Family's generational abode. Pain filled his heart, the loss of his love uniting with the death of Sirius as he was consumed by flames and spun out into a world of chaos.

Harry practically fell out of the Weasley's hearth, the floo network still his most hated form of transport. There was a shriek, a gasp of surprise, and soon Harry felt hands helping him up to his feet when a small body was thrown against his chest with a squeal of delight. Ginny Weasley hugged him tightly, Harry's stance awkward and shaky at this display of admiration, as he gestured with arms open and eyes pleading for help. Ginny continued her embrace, the words of her brother the only thing that allowed Harry his liberation from her affections.

Looking at Harry, Ginny smiled. The Weasley girls crush on this young man had long diminished in her heart, she of whom had come to think of the Famous Harry Potter as just another of the many male siblings she happened to have. Her attempts at wooing and romancing this man, albeit through ill-penned poems or annoying get well cards, had been met with unarguable, but gentlemanly, rejection. Harry looked at her as a friend, maybe even a sister, and although the desire was still there, it was now one of the many burning embers that kept her relationship with Dean Thomas so strong.

No sooner had Ginny released him from her clutches then Harry was almost bowled over by an overly enthusiastic Molly Weasley, who took the time to crush Harry's entire rib cage with one of her special, trademark, hugs. The woman was so loving, even to someone who wasn't even blood. The Weasley's had unofficially adopted Harry into their family, and when Harry was finally able to greet his brother, both he and Ron gripped hands and pulled each other into a fraternal embrace.

Despite himself, Harry did a quick round of the Weasley's, the thought of his _family_ being under the control of Death Eaters was another concept of this war he could not bear. Each followed his interrogations with words of understanding and soon Harry was sure his family were not under the influence of the Imperius Curse. Mr Weasley congratulated Harry on his caution, the world was a dangerous place with Voldemort and his Death Eaters returned to full strength, and everybody needed to be careful in these dark and troubled times.

Though he felt happiness at his reunion with the Weasley's all of them could not help but notice how Harry's demeanour had changed. He seemed not so willowed, not so overly awed by their love and the wizarding world. Ron had noticed this too and soon he had lumbered Harry off to the hay barn under the guise of helping with the livestock, however, it was more for a word of cautious concern.

"You alright, mate?" Ron said, tossing Harry a pitchfork as he watched how viciously the raven-haired boy stabbed the prongs into the piles of chaff.

"Not really, Ron," Harry spoke, his tone calmer than the aggressive way he attended to his chore. "I'm just… angry."

Ron, who had pulled out his wand, began to magically shape and bind the mounds of hay Harry was piling, felt a pang of understanding for his friend. He of whom seemed almost ready to explode.

"I just… I want that bitch dead!"

"Bellatrix…?" Ron said gently, ceasing on his labours to see his friend stab his implement of work hard into the earth, weight resting upon its foundations as he began to weep. Concern flooded through Ron who he hurried forth, coming to his brother's aid and pulling Harry away from the pitchfork, away from any assumed danger and wrapped his arms around him in a sincere, desperate embrace. The floodgates were now open, the loss, the pain, the grief of losing his Godfather, of losing Hermione, of the sheer pain and loneliness of his heart. All began to pour forth from Harry as he buried his face into Ron's shoulder and felt himself tremble with rage.

Ron, who was trying his best to comfort his friend, felt the such a force of power emanating around them that the very air seemed to quiver with fear. The earth shook, unlit lamps fell from their hooks, falling to shatter on the ground. The air cracked with power, the walls wailed in protest and Harry began to growl. The anger and pain beginning to consume him.

Yet Ron would not let him go. Instead, he pulled Harry tighter to himself, shouting now over the growls of rage Harry omitted as he sort to offer words of hope, his arms struggling to hold on to his brother, both he and Harry shaking with the force resonating from his grief struck friend.

Fear flooded the heart of Ron Weasley, himself now pleading with Harry, when the other Weasley's rushed forth into the barn. Ginny gasped, Molly rushed forth to aid her sons, both blood and spiritual, shouting for Mr Weasley to hurry for help.

Molly and Ginny practically dragged Harry and Ron out of the barn, none of the Weasley's ever feeling a power like this.

The support beams cracked. The roof caved. The hay barn collapsed as its foundations were destroyed.

Billowing plumes of dust and dirt surged up from the ruination in a thick, choking mass.

All coughed and ran for cover, forcing themselves to dive and flee. All broken, the barn and earth collapsing at the force of the eruption.

Black dust consumed all in a deadly mass of grit.

The Weasley clan shook in fear, coughing and casting their gazes back through the layers of filth in time to see Harry standing, limp and broken beneath the burden of his pain.

Harry collapsed at the foot of his own devastation, and slipped into total darkness.

Ginny was the first to come to his aid, the very earth rippling with thunderous aftershocks as the rest of her family looked on in sheer, dumbstruck silence.

Something was wrong, something was very wrong with Harry and they knew of only one person who could help them.

Harry needed Albus Dumbledore.


	6. The Sands of Deceit

**_Chapter Six– The Sands of Deceit_**

Harry awoke to find himself lying in bed. His world was a haze of confusion and darkness with only the slightest rays of moonshine issuing into the room through the vague spaces in the drapes. Pressure surrounded the inside of his head as he forcefully pressed the base of his palms against his temples, this an attempt to try and relieve some of the aching sense of pain within his cerebral cortex. He moaned, low and long before the world around him began to swim. His breathing hitched, Harry groaned, eyes clenched shut as he struggled to regain his composure. His mind felt so clouded, a vague essence of darkness present at the very brink of his consciousness. He wondered what that was and what had happened to him to feel so terribly? But his mind simply would not function in to its optimum capacity.

Harry turned towards the dressing table seeking to find his glasses. His fingers found said implement, adorning them with a sense of relief as sight returned to his eyes, and as he cast his gaze to the flank of his bedside, so his vision bestowed a beauty stationed in a chair beside him.

Her body was arched with weariness, light, gentle breathing issuing as she rested her head against knuckles he had kissed in the time previous before his slumber. She looked so beautiful, a peaceful vision though there was pain in the hollows of her brows. Harry's heart felt suddenly strident at the sight of her, though he wondered how long she had been stationed there, for she looked so weary and distressed. But he was awake now and he smiled, swinging his legs out of his bed as he came to sit before his slumbering friend, drinking in her beauty as she sat lax in sleep.

"Hermione…" Harry breathed, whispering her name to the wind before gently brushing her cheek with the wisps of his fingertips.

"Harry..." Hermione sighed in her dreams, pressing her face lovingly against his tips where her lips subconsciously kissed his mitt. This action evoking a deeper infusion of passion in his heart as he drew closer to her, his lips touching her brow as his breath teased her skin.

"Sleeping beauty…" Harry whispered softly in her ear. "It is time to wake up…"

As a fairy tale prince does to his slumbering love Harry pressed his lips gently against Hermione's in a chaste, stolen kiss. Hermione began to stir, drawn back from dreams by the will of her prince's kiss. Harry innocently drew back from his friend, offering her a smile to his best friend as her eyes slowly opened slowly. She was dazed, confused, but upon seeing her friend, awake and seemingly in full health her face grew radiant with delight.

"Oh, Harry…!" Hermione unleashed a squeal of happiness, throwing herself into his arms, hugging him so tightly that he felt his body grow sore with the strength of her affections. It was a good ache, but his body was still weary from sleep. Hermione kissed him chastely from cheek to cheek, her own seared crimson at her own lucid dreams and desires, burning at how desperate she had been to offer him her full affection and relief for his rousing. His arms felt so good around her, herself feeling so perfect against his frame as he tried to pull her even closer still.

It was a feeling neither Harry nor Hermione wanted to lose. Together they sat, Hermione straddled upon his lap, Harry holding her endearingly until she drew back and looked deeply into those emerald green eyes she found so beautiful.

It was only then that the full impact of the situation struck them. Hermione was stationed so intimately on his lap that she could feel how his heated body _exhibiting_ his enjoyment. Hermione breathed deeply, arms now would about his neck as his own hands rested upon her hips. She was so close, so close he could smell the scent of her hair, jasmine and honeysuckle. It was a glorious scent, his gaze taking in her plush, pink lips. Her eyes were so beautiful, deep and filled with affection and wisdom.

Harry's hands threaded through her hair, cradled the back of her head and pulled her lips down towards his.

The door to the bed chamber burst open, omitting the Weasley family and Albus Dumbledore.

Hermione threw herself off Harry's lap, her gaze lowered in embarrassment as she allowed Mrs Weasley and Ginny to offer their words of relief and comfort to Harry. Ron, who had been standing a few paces away, bore a frown at his brow, which he offered Hermione with a dark, glaring look.

Hermione scowled back, unafraid of Ron, but annoyed that he would feel so threatened by something that was not even on his terms to dictate. Hermione glowered at her friend, gesturing silently to Harry and saw the reluctant slump to Ron's frame as he offered Harry his hand.

Harry tried to pull his brother into an embrace, however Ron resisted patting Harry meekly on the back and offering tepid words of relief for his friend's recovery. Those green eyes sort Hermione's once more and found his friend to be dejected. What was wrong with her? Also, why was Ron acting so cold?

Albus Dumbledore stood framed in the doorway of the young man's sleeping chamber and offered forth a smile that could have been perceived as happiness. But those privy to the workings of his mind knew he was more elated by the obvious tension building between the Demon King and one of the main foundation stones in his life.

This was most interesting.

"How are you feeling, Harry?" inquired the ancient wizard. Harry blinked, breathing deeply, his gaze continuing to drift between Hermione and Ron.

It was this reaction that prompted the cunning Dumbledore into his next port of call.

"Molly…? Could you and Miss Ginevra please leave us? This is something I must address in private."

"Of course, Albus, all of you, out!" Molly snapped, gesturing for all to leave.

"All except Mr Weasley and Miss Granger, if you would be so kind?" Molly blinked, startled that her youngest son would be so highly sort after by the Headmaster of Hogwarts, despite Ronald's relationship with his two oldest friends. But the woman did as she was ordered, ushering Ginny out of the room to many protests and words of annoyance from her youngest child.

Albus gestured for Ron and Hermione to take their place beside Harry, Hermione stationed at Harry's right hand, Ron so distance away at his left. Harry's hand instinctively reached for Hermione's squeezing gently as their fingers interlocked.

Dumbledore hid his smile well, but his eyes glinted with that glimmer that so often put people at ease. It was an expression of triumph.

"Now, you three," Dumbledore said conjuring a chair with a wave of his hand. Hermione instinctively squeezed Harry's hand in awe at such power. Harry's eyes shifted, felt his heart contract as Dumbledore settled into his chair and observed him and his friends with those bright blue eyes.

"I'm certain each of you have noticed some rather peculiar changes happening to our beloved Harry?"

Dumbledore's eyes immediately shifted to Hermione. The young woman was wise and powerful, blessed with a will for knowledge that he knew rivalled his own. His eyes drank in the delicious camaraderie found between the Demon King and the woman beside him. Could it be possible? Was Hermione Granger truly the rebirth of the divine consort Cethlenn?

Hermione shuddered involuntarily at the intensity of Dumbledore's gaze, Harry's hand leaving hers to rest protectively at her thigh. Dumbledore turned his gaze respectfully away from Miss Granger, though he gestured for her to speak. As he so knew she so desperately wanted to.

"Professor… I have noticed these changes and I'm sure Ron can say the same, however, I'm concerned about the reason behind this. You know something… don't you?"

Dumbledore nodded wisely, though inside he hated this little wench's thirst for wisdom. An eddy of fear crept into the old man's gut. He would need to get this little harlot on side and quickly, the Order could not afford the Demon King to be unveiled. Especially by some strip if a Mudblood blessed with more brains than common sense. The old man already had several ideas brewing in his mind, however, he nodded in response to her questioning.

"Yes, I do Miss Granger. I've known ever since Harry's parents presented him to me on his anointing ceremony." It was the best ruse he could use, and to his satisfaction Hermione gripped Harry's arm in both awe and surprise. Oh, little girl, how thus your mind believes. To the old man's surprise, it was not Miss Granger who spoke next but Mr Weasley.

"Sir…? Anointing ceremonies are reserved for wizard royalty, aren't they? Harry… Harry isn't an Heir… is he?"

This was all too easy.

"I'm impressed, Mr Weasley," Dumbledore complemented the red headed teen. "Given your, respectfully _poor_ History of Magic grades it comes as quite a satisfactory situation that you know this, given your own importance in this situation."

"My…? But… What?" Ron stammered, dumbstruck by the sheer magnitude of the old man's words. Never, not in all his life had Ron been said to be important to anything. It was a strange and glorious feeling. Dumbledore reached into the sleeve of his robe and took out what looked to be an ancient, golden hourglass. The old man palmed the old timekeeper, holding it out in a single hand gesturing with his wand hand towards the three youths.

"Touch the hourglass, please. Any questions you have will be answered thereafter." Ron was the first one to lunge forth, hand grasping the top of the glass with eagerness. Hermione hesitated, cautious and weary. Only together, when she and Harry reached forth as one, did the two friends join their fellow, their fingertips vaguely brushing against the body of the timepiece.

Dumbledore dropped the golden timekeeper.

The hourglass shattered at their feet, causing the three to start. Their eyes were immediately drawn to the pool of sand created on the floor, the dust sifting and swirling into an eddy of golden grit, before blossoming into the vague outline of people. Dumbledore began to chant, speaking in a hushed, ancient voice, while the trio found themselves captivated by the impressions and images taken up by the shifting sands on the floor before them.

"Throughout the centuries, Magic has flown through the veins of both Magical and Muggle families. Godric Gryffindor and his mate, Rowena Ravenclaw, were the first to come together and begin the process of Wizarding Education."

The sands altered, formed the impression of the four founders of Hogwarts. Within the wisps of grit Godric Gryffindor and Rowena Ravenclaw bore a startling resemblance to Harry and Hermione. They came together, lips meeting in a kiss, before the images blended once more before forming an impression of a woman who looked remarkably like Mrs Weasley.

"Helga Hufflepuff soon joined them, herself the bearer of many sons and whose bloodline runs through the line of Weasley even to this day."

The sands swam and collected for a third time, this time forming that of the four founders, joined by one that could be no one else than Lord Voldemort.

"Soon Gryffindor and Ravenclaw would recruit their companion, Salazar Slytherin, whose heir is known to each of you. These four founders would come together to strengthen their desire for Wizarding education, and would so construct the finest school of Magical learning in all the known world."

The sands then formed the shape of Hogwarts Castle, with the four founders stationed at the gate, welcoming students and teachers alike. The lies and spells Dumbledore had begun to weave upon the trio were ancient and powerful. He could see that Ronald Weasley had already been completely consumed, Dumbledore's lies feeding off the young man's lusts of enormity, splendour and magnificence.

Harry too was also slipping, but it was that wench Granger who continued to resist.

The sands shifted several times more, Dumbledore's story of ancient blood lines slowly, so very slowly, beginning to take effect. Harry was now smiling, he soon also a believer in the lies Dumbledore was weaving.

The old man's sole attention suddenly became focused on Hermione.

Her will was breaking.

Dumbledore forced all his power, all his might into rending this whores resistance. But will of Miss Granger was also strong, herself also wise in arcane lore that it took a strenuous amount of effort, even from the intensely powerful Albus Dumbledore.

But like all things, everyone has a breaking point.

Hermione's eyes did not glaze with awe and renown, but her will had buckled enough that a pleasant smile had begun to cross her face. Dumbledore hid his sneer of fury behind his beard as he observed Miss Granger with hatred in his eyes.

All he could do now was hope that the Sands of Deceit had been strong enough. Miss Granger did not fully believe in the lies he had told, but the Demon King and his companions were as veiled in these tales of Heirdom as deeply as his powers would permit.

A dark notion began to sift into the old man's shrewdly crooked mind.

He would need to break this friendship… and break it he shall.


	7. A Lustful Strategy

_**Chapter Seven – A Lustful Strategy**_

Tom Marvolo Riddle, Lord Voldemort, He Who Must Not Be Named. He went by many names, most of which the wizarding world feared to speak, and those that they did glorified and fed that fear so that the very mention of him was enough to strike terror in the hearts of those who opposed him. stood upon the grounds of his former place of education. Hogwarts castle was still as majestic, as awe inspiring, as grand in this visit as it was when the Dark Lord had first crossed the black lake towards this place of elite magical learning.

Tom could almost feel the air around him shift, felt the hellish trees of the Dark Forest almost uplift their roots from the sickening darkness that corrupted his aura. Even the castle itself seemed to offer its own ambiance of rejection, in response to the evils and atrocities that had been committed by _once_ the schools most promising student.

A rustle of leaves resounded from the woods behind him, felt the power of his enemy, his partner as he strolled forth onto the grounds, robes of magenta sweeping the earth, his wizen face both twisted in corruption and bearing its familiar expression of wisdom and strength. His beard was still braided, still tucked into his belt, his air of power still exceeding that of the Dark Lord. Oh, how Tom Riddle hated this man.

"Is it done?" Voldemort asked, never taking his eyes away from the castle. Albus Dumbledore came to stand next to his partner and stooge, the shade of evening concealing their liaison as the old man smiled and stroked his beard.

"Yes… the Sands of Deceit were powerful enough to plant the falsities you suggested. For once, Tom, one of your plans actually seem to have worked."

Dumbledore words resounded with mockery, a tone the Dark Lord was not accustom to hearing. But he knew better than to speak against his superior, even in matters of personal pride.

"Bellatrix is going to lead a number of my followers to assault Miss Lovegood and her family. What do you want to happen to the girl?"

Dumbledore scoffed.

"Make sure she is harmed enough to draw out the power of Cethlenn, do what you must, we must know if she is the consort. Though after seeing the Demon Kings affections for Miss Granger this evening, I grow all the more troubled. She is quite clearly the most power of the three, while The Demon King remains unleashed. She is the one that took the most convincing from the Sands of Deceit, the most effort. I will _personally_ see to the task of separating her from Harry's right hand."

"How will you do this?" Voldemort asked, he himself informed by his spies at Hogwarts of how deeply Miss Grangers friendship ran for the Demon King. It would take an exceptionally powerful situation to see her removed from Harry's side. However, Dumbledore offered his deformed subordinate a sinister chuckle.

"Though the Demon King is loyal, Harry Potter is still a man. A man with a man's wants, a man's needs. I know Miss Granger well enough to know she will not be so… _susceptible_ to the Demon King's desires. However, I know of a certain woman who we could use to break this bond of loyalty between them."

"But… I thought you said Miss Weasley was-"

"Tom, you are such a fool. Has Miss Black been unable to bestow in you some sense of lust? After all that is all she is to you, is it not?"

"Bellatrix may be my bed mate, but you are not speaking about me. From what Lucius has told me, Harry Potter bears his mother's nobility. Do you really believe this harlot you speak of can break his affection for Miss Granger?"

Dumbledore chuckled darkly at Tom Riddles foolish question.

"Ohh… she won't break his affection for her, more she will break the heart of Miss Granger. As I said before, if you break the consort you break the Demon King. I will make sure Hermione Granger's love for Harry Potter is shattered. Then we will work on controlling The Demon King himself."

"This must be an exceptional woman if you feel she can do that," Tom Riddle said in a sense of intrigue he could not suppress. "Who is she?"

Dumbledore actually _smiled_ in response to his partner's curiosity.

"Ohh… she will make her presence know, very… _very_ soon. I also have a certain Ace up my sleeve. The Demon King could be a valuable assist in our desire for conquest. For now, see to it that Miss Lovegood is tested. I still have my misgivings about Miss Granger, but these are more personal than founded by any true reasoning. Miss Granger _is_ the consort, I just need my qualms to be appeased. Until next time, Tom."

Dumbledore offered Voldemort a mocking smile, before he began to walk towards the castle in a slow, easy step.

Voldemort glowered after his former professor, and turned back towards the forest.


	8. Broken Desire

_**Chapter Eight – Broken Desire**_

Harry tried to get to sleep once more, tried return to his slumber and prepare himself for the special day that, by the light of his wrist watch, was already here. Today, the time slowly ticking past 04:00am was the 31st of July: Harry's birthday. A slight hollow of pain suddenly opened in his heart as he lay amidst sheets of orange and frowned when he could not hear Ron snoring. Was he still awake?

Ron, despite his good heart, was never one to miss an opportunity to either eat or lounge back and sleep. Harry did not expect his friend to remember his birthday, true, Ron and Hermione had been good to him over the years, much kinder than his blood relations. However, Ron and Hermione, and Harry himself, he reflected, had just been informed a few hours ago, that they were the blood Heir's to the entire dynasty of Hogwarts.

It was both an amazing, and extremely bitter pill for Harry to take. He already had a massive amount of responsibility placed upon his shoulders, owing to Professor Trelawney's Prophecy. It had been foretold that neither Harry nor his enemy: Lord Voldemort, could ever truly live while the other survived. It was a sickening notion, a thought that made the prospect of getting close to anyone extremely sour and unlikely.

Harry felt his head swim once more. His world suddenly became a haze of swirling mist. His breathing began to quicken. Harry applied pressure to his temples, trying to sooth some of the pain, and once more he heard that horrific voice drift to him on the evening wind.

' _Rebmuls a sa hdaeried ra nekow nomed na ta. Leiús liacso nomed na ta_.'

"Who…? Who are you…?" Harry breathed to the winds, hoping for an answer, a reason this intrusive voice, a reason for this pain. The pressure died down almost as quickly as it had come, Harry's eyes however, were awash with tears, tears he hastened to dry and conceal. He swallowed. Where the hell was Ron?

Harry pulled on the bed robe Mrs Weasley always provided for her children, pulling its heavy flannel fabric around himself. Securing the robe with its belt, Harry stood, flexed his shoulders and began to trudge downstairs.

The Burrow was dark at this hour, moonlight sifting in from slats in the walls and some windows when, to his surprise, he heard the sound of a piano being played. Harry frowned, the Weasley's didn't own a piano… did they?

Cautiously Harry stepped down the stairs, trying his best not to step on the stairs that creaked or would betray his presence. Harry peered into the living room, and felt his heart quicken in his chest.

Hermione sat, bathed in moonshine, clad in a periwinkle blue night dress which flowed about her body in a soft layer of silk. She sat beside Mr Weasley old Muggle gramophone, a single record spinning on its needle, issuing a beautiful, classical, number into the room; though it seemed to be only heard by himself and Hermione. Harry knew the piece of music, recognised its haunting melody, but its name he could not place. It was a breath-taking song, but the sight of her, skin visible through the thin veil of silk, her curvy frame both tempting and yet somehow keeping her modesty was all the more delightful.

Harry felt his heart sore, his blood grow hot, himself thankful for the concealment of his robe. What was he to do? Did he go forth? Ask to share this moment with her? Or did he merely sit here and watch? A spy upon her beauty, much like Actaeon in the presence of Artemis. Harry felt the lure of his friend to be too strong, stepping out from behind his place of concealment, and stepped towards Hermione.

She looked up, neither stunned by his unexpected presence, nor bashful from his gaze, which racked her form in a way that made her cheeks grow hot and her heart to race. Harry offered Hermione his hand, smiling when she took it and allowed him to pull up to her feet. Harry reached for her other hand and smiled, saw her rosy cheeks grow hot and felt his own heat up. He kissed her hand, took her to the heart of the room, and began to lead her in a dance.

Hermione smiled, remembering the Yule ball and how clumsy she had been that day. Things had never felt right with Viktor, even when they spoke, he made it very clear that he feared her friendship with Harry. Her heart began to pound, she breathed and lay her head on his shoulder. Harry pulled her close, leading her in a slow circle when he whispered in her ear.

"What song is this…?"

' _Oh Harry, don't ask questions now_.' Hermione moaned internally. Things felt so right, so good with him. She felt loved, needed, desired. Even in this innocent dance Hermione knew she loved him. But knew he would never feel the same. This was just a moment to him, a moment of friendship, wasn't it? Her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, her heart a storm of emotions. The demon she had embraced offering its own sense of desire. She beat it back, breathed, and spoke.

"It's the Moonlight Sonata," Hermione said. She felt him breathe, felt his lips against her neck, his arms pulling her closer to him. What…? What did he…?

"Hermione…" Harry drew back, looked deep into the eyes of his best friend. He felt the song drawing them closer, felt fate push them forth. His lips lowered and brushed against hers. A spark surged between them, striking, their hearts soring with passion.

"Harry…?" Hermione breathed, startled, her lips tingling with the kiss she had desired for so long. Her heart felt like it could burst, saw the same desire in his eyes as he threaded her fingers through her hair, grasped her tight, and pulled her mouth back onto his.

This time the kiss erupted as Harry forced her body backwards and she collided with the wall behind her. Hermione's heart raced, seeking to erupt through her chest as she moaned and longed into his lips. Her body shuddered, the world reeling at such desire, such craving for another soul. Her hands fumbled swiftly the belt of his robes, Harry caressing her skin and frame through the silk her nightdress.

His skin sent forth streams of lightning, her silken dress slowly becoming nothing more than an annoyance to the searing heat of passion.

Harry hoisted Hermione up off her feet, Hermione unleashing a vibrant moan of longing as her legs wrapped around his frame.

What the hell was going on? This was happening to quickly, to soon. But…

"Surprise…!" The sudden sound of a dozen shocked voices abruptly severed any passion they might had shared, and in that moment Hermione wished for nothing more than for the world to open up and swallow her whole.

The lovers broke their kiss in a slow, shamed reluctance, as Hermione opening her eyes to see, not only the Weasley family, but most of their class mates gazing at them in expressions of stunned shock.

Harry slowly settled Hermione back down to her feet, felt her fumble with the layer of silk he had torn in their outbursts lust, and turned to face his family.


	9. Discusssions

_**Chapter Nine – Discussions**_

Mutterings of shock resounded from the gathered masses of youths and Weasley's as Harry lifted his gaze from the floor in time to see Ron trembling with rage and rush away out into the early morning air. Harry made to follow, his trek ceased by Hermione's hand on his shoulder. Looking back at her he saw her shake her head, she squeezed his arm affectionately and stepped beyond him to give chase to their friend.

Ginny Weasley watched Hermione pursue her brother, a glare entering her eyes as she turned to face Harry. He looked so weak, head hung low and hand grasped upon his wrist. She was angry, but it was more because of her own self-regard rather than any of the feelings she had once held for Harry. Many of the boys and girls from Hogwarts disbanded, stepping either into the kitchen or out onto the grounds of the Burrow, Fred Weasley, however, elbowed his twin in the ribs and gestured for some kind of payment from his sibling.

"Cheers mate!" Fred Weasley stated, holding up, what looked to be, a hand full of Galleons. "I told George you'd be with Hermione before you left Hogwarts."

"Boys!" Molly Weasley snapped, striking Fred about the back of his head for his cheekiness. Her son howled in protest, Ginny and her two elder brothers hurrying away to leave Harry alone with their parents, the former of which, was yet to speak a word.

"Oh… Harry dear." Molly Weasley stepped forth, pulling her (practically) adopted son into her arms and pulling him tight to her chest.

"Molly…" Arthur Weasley stated, his voice a low, good natured tone. "Harry has had a kiss, not failed an O.W.L."

Molly Weasley's face flushed, releasing Harry and stepping back.

"Arthur, I… I think you should have a talk with Harry, man to man, I'm going to find Hermione and Ron."

"Thank you, Molly, Ron can be bad tempered in times such as this. See to it I speak to him after me and Harry have spoken." Arthur stated, his wife wiping her hands on her apron and stepping after the two Gryffindor prefects.

"M… Mr Weasley… I'm sorry… I don't know what-"

"Harry… Harry…" Arthur Weasley cooed, holding the famous youth at arm's length, before guiding him over to the worn and fluffy sofa. "You've nothing to be ashamed of, my boy. You're young, coming into manhood, it is only natural you should be seeing things differently."

Harry swallowed, hands ringing in his lap and head held low. He looked up, turning his gaze towards Mr Weasley.

"I… I don't regret it… the kiss, sir." Stated Harry.

"Nor should you, Hermione is a lovely girl, and good for you. However, there are other matters we need to discuss."

Harry nodded, lowering his gaze back to his hands, he breathed.

"Ron…"

Arthur Weasley placed a hand around the young man's frame, softly patting his limb with as much comfort as he could before turning Harry's gaze to face him, all seriousness now clear on his face.

"No Harry… sex."

* * *

Hermione found Ron in the garden practically abusing a number of the Weasley's many Gnomes. However, he was not tossing them over fence or away from him as was normal, rather he was kicking, beating and brutalising those creatures in a rage she had never seen before.

"Ron…! Ronald, stop!" Hermione ordered, calling out to him across the din of shrieking, whaling Gnomes. Ron turned around after giving one of the creatures an extremely vicious kick and glared at her.

"Why should I?!" Ron snapped, picking up another of the blubbering creatures and sending it flying towards Hermione. The young woman ducked, dodging the screaming thing before pulling her wand out from inside the front of her nightdress.

"Is this how you are, Ronald?" Hermione snapped, brandishing her weapon which Ron looked at with mockery and contempt. "Would that be me if I did something you didn't like? Beaten up like one of those Gnomes?"

Ron's face felt slack, stunned. Turning to face her fully Ron shook his head.

"I… I'd never hurt you, Hermione." Ron said gently, stepping towards his childhood crush as she stood her ground and glared.

"You've hurt me more than once already."

Ron's brow furrowed, face exhibiting an expression of shock.

"When?" Ron asked, his voice suddenly harsh and disbelieving.

Hermione actually snorted.

"Where do I begin?" she snapped. "How many times have you called me a know-it-all? Abandoned me and Harry when things don't go your way? Hell, you were even willing to use me as a last resort at the Yule Ball because you couldn't get a date. Is that the way someone acts when they care about someone? Is it, Ronald?"

Her words cut with the razors edge of truth, her chastisement harsh and wounding to his soul. Her every statement of really how un-matched they were broken by only a vague sense of selfishness from Ron. Why… Why did Harry always get what he wanted?

"Because Harry is better for me, Ron," Hermione said gently, lowering her wand and address her friend like she was the world most accomplished legilimens. "Harry has never hurt me. He doesn't call me names, use me for homework or for convenience-"

"I don't-"

"Really… Ron?" Hermione drawled, shaking her head at this weak defence from her friend. "Search yourself, you know what I'm saying is right. Harry has always been there for me, and me him. We… we're more than friends, more than anything me and you have ever shared. Really… Ron, it would not work between us."

A rustling of grass resounded behind them and Hermione wheeled to see Molly Weasley stepping into sight. She was smiling, soft, sweet and gentle. The Weasley Matriarch stepped forth towards her youngest son and his fellow friend. Hermione lowered her gaze in silent respect, seeking approval for her words, to which Molly Weasley patted her on the shoulder.

"Everything she says is true, Ronnie," Molly said gently to her son, her voice filled with motherly affection. "I think it is time you stop think of Harry as a rival, and more of what he always has been to you… a brother."

"I don't need another brother!" Ron bellowed with heated rage, lashing out and striking a cowering Gnome hard with his shin. The impact sent the little thing reeling and drew a cry of fright from Hermione. Molly Weasley stepped forth like a lioness in defence of her young.

"Ronald Bilius Weasley!" Molly's voice severed through her child's rage as instantly as Fiend Fire through the coldest ice. Her words sent him reeling and Molly turned to regard Hermione.

Her face softened as she saw the concern on her face.

"Hermione… would you leave us dear. I need to discipline my child."

The young woman swallowed, breasts heaving as she nodded.

"Yes, Mrs Weasley… certainly."

"There's cake in the kitchen, my dear. See to it that some is saved for the candle lighting."

Molly Weasley's voice was a as kind and gentle as ever, but as Hermione stepped away and she turned to face her child. Her aura became both stern and strong.

"Now, Ronald..." Ron tried to look brave, but felt his hand tremble as his mother turned her gaze back upon him.

"We are going to have a _long_ … and _serious_ … talk."


	10. Challenge and Acceptance

_**Chapter Ten – Challenge and Acceptance**_

Hermione entered The Burrow's living room to the mutters and gazes of most of her fellow classmates. Many of them looked upon her with disappointment, some envy, others joy and pride. How could one kiss spur so many different emotions in so many people?

"Well done, Hermione!" Lavender Brown stepped up, as pompous and as bold as ever. "Thanks for hurting Ron like that!"

"I'm not even dating Ron!" Hermione snapped in anger, rounding on Padma Patel and Lavender's best friend Parvati, all of whom were Lavender's own clique and all glared at Hermione, surrounding her like vultures on a carcass.

"Ron's been a good friend to you, Hermione!" Parvati said, speaking in the truth she chose to believe. "He's had a crush on you for ages. How could you be so blind?"

"I'm not blind!" Hermione snapped, the girls ganging up on her but Hermione standing her ground with a true Gryffindor's courage. "I just don't fancy him! I don't want a guy like Ron."

"Why not?" Lavender snapped, sounding almost as if Hermione's words had offended her personally. "Ron's cute and funny, and he is great at Quidditch."

"He is _good_ at Quidditch." Hermione corrected.

"Whatever. All I'm saying is any woman would be ecstatic to have Ron. I think you need to get your head out of those books and start living in the real world."

"Or maybe you need to read more and learn that there is more to love than just physical attraction. Ron's a good person, I know that. But he's just not for me. I love-"

"Harry?" the girls suddenly gasped, recoiling suddenly as Hermione blinked. How did they? However the girls weren't looking at her, they were looking past her, beyond her shoulders to someone standing behind her. Hermione wheeled, turning to see the man she loved framed in the conjoined archway of the Burrow's kitchen and living room. His face was livid, dark, and ominous, but it was what Hermione saw that made her gasp.

It hovered like a spectre, something indistinct, something her eyes could only vaguely see. However, Hermione knew it was there. A tall, twisted looking entity, a demon which made her body scared but her heart sore with longing. What was this? What the hell was going on?

"You... Okay… Hermione…?" Even his voice was changing, something even the girls could hear, however, she was sure they could not see the obsidian figure reaching sinisterly behind Harry, seeking to claim him. To…

The demon looked up.

Its colourless eyes _saw_ Hermione, saw her not only as the girl who held the heart of its host, but the woman it took, loved and desired. Bálor's expression of darkness suddenly lightened with affection, looking almost kind as it smiled at Cethlenn, she of whom loomed behind Hermione. Indistinct to all but Harry, and sightless to all but the being she loved.

The destructor soothed in its desire for death, left its duty of destruction for another time, allowing these two mortals the time they needed together. Cethlenn smiled at the retreating form of her lover, the darkness that surrounded Harry slowly fading, allowing Harry's body, and his soul to relax.

His posture softened. His eyes lost their shading, and he smiled with the kindness he had always bore.

Hermione crossed towards the man she loved and embraced him with all the affection she possessed. It wasn't enough, all the love in the world would not be enough to show him how deeply she cared and Harry's arms wrapped around her, feeling the affection, the warmth, the love. But also the re-stirrings of desire.

"Let's get out of here." Harry breathed into Hermione's ear, teeth scraping along its brim causing Hermione's body to shudder with heated longing. Her little flower began to moisten, she quivered, ignoring the babble of the girls as she struggled to breathe.

"Okay…"

Harry released Hermione from his embrace, linked his hand with hers and together they wandered out of the Burrow, beyond the barn, beyond the orchard, out into nothing more than the wilderness of the Devonshire countryside.

Harry and Hermione came to rest at the crest of a large hill overlooking the valleys of Ottery St. Catchpool. It had been a while since Harry had wandered these hills, let alone at the sheer leisure of being with the woman he loved. Harry's thumb graciously traced the crown of her hand, lifting it gently to softly kiss her mitt in a chivalrous display of affection.

Hermione blushed crimson, felt her heart flutter deep within her, but it was not just a fluttering of her own, but also a stirring for the woman her destiny had bound her two. The couple sat, feeling the soft grass beneath their glutes, Harry looking down at himself as Hermione sensed his confusion and concern.

"I can't believe I'm an heir to Gryffindor…" Harry said gently, the sands of deceit twisting his words and shading his voice so that only Hermione could hear him. Hermione swallowed, feeling the slight part of her, the level that had resisted, protest within her. She tried to speak, to acknowledge, to fan the flames of lies Dumbledore had placed upon them. But the Queen would not allow it, so Hermione kept her silence.

"It's difficult…" Hermione said, speaking in a way only she knew made sense. She wanted to speak plainly, to be truthful to the man she loved. But she would not lie to him, would not play this game that deceitful old man was conducting. She had resisted for more than a millina, had helped her husband through so many trials. Cathleen would not be beaten in a world that was so close to their own.

"I know you can't just embrace what you are… You're scared of the power you possess. Of what lies within you. But I'm here… I'm here for you and I'll always help you."

"Cethleen…" Harry breathed, pulling, speaking her true name, the demon king now so suppressed that all he could do was plea. He embraced her, their lips met in a soft, gentle joining. Beyond the veil of the Gods the world showed two young lovers sharing a first true kiss of affection. Hermione shuddered at the passion which his kiss ignited in her, felt her breasts heave as she drew in gasps of desire. Her hand came to his hair, streamed through his soft black locks as Bálor pulled his queen forth and began to exert his passion, his desire, his lusts upon her.

"Harry… Harry no…" Hermione said gently, speaking to the man she loved, the demon king hearing his lady and growling in frustration. "Not yet. This… this is too soon."

It was not Harry that growled, but the feral being that existed within. Bálor did not like being denied, but for the sake of his lady and the two people they had been bore too, he allowed Cathleen to caress his frame and quench the desires within.

Harry exhaled a long, meaningful breath as Bálor released him from his hold, allowing the boy to return to himself and feeling his heart pounding at the power he possessed.

"This is crazy, Hermione!" Harry gasped with an insane chuckle. It was not the cackle of a broken madman, but the laughter of one who sees they are not entirely normal and feels joy and acceptance in that fact.

"I know, isn't it?" Hermione too offered her own chortle of acceptance, only hers was filled with more wisdom, more caution than the fiery boy before her. Hermione knew she was not as powerful as him, no matter what her wisdom might dictate. But she also knew they were one, a true couple, themselves the true embodiment of Harmony.

"I want to go talk to Ron."

Hermione swallowed at the determination in her lovers words. It was not so much she worried for him, but more what the result would be should Ron try something stupid.

"Are you sure?" She spoke gently, cautiously. Harry smiled and pecked her cheek in tenderness.

"Of course, he's my brother."

"Yeah, but… you know? He's not in a good place at the moment."

"I know that…" Harry said gently, beseeching Hermione to understand. "That's why I need to see him. He needs my help."

Hermione drew her bottom lip between her teeth, a gesture of nerves and unease. It did much to mask his affection for Ron, and stoke the still smouldering embers of desire deep within his soul.

"Don't do that!" Harry snapped in frustration, Hermione's brow knitting with confusion.

"Do what?"

"That… just… just don't!" Hermione ran the tip of her tongue across her lower lip and offered her lover a gleaming gaze.

"Okay… just not in public." Bálor growled from deep within his vessel, Cathleen heard his rumbling from deep within The Realm and giggled at her own jesting.

"You mock me?" Harry asked, his voice his whole manor suddenly changing, changing to such a degree that Hermione drew back in shock and surprise. She was not in touch with her alter at this time and the sight of Harry's demeanour, the sound of his voice was so different, it scared her.

"No… No… I?" Harry's very soul suddenly shuddered and his once dark expression softened so quickly Hermione began to doubt even her own recollections.

"I'm sorry…" Harry said gently, all darkness gone as he desperately took one of her hands in each of his and kissed them desperately with worshipful devotion. "I don't know what just happened. I didn't mean to scare you."

"No… no it's okay…" Hermione said gently herself not quite sure what was happening herself. She knew something… something about what was happening to the man she loved, but for some reason her mind was so clouded she could not recall the facts she needed.

"Let's go find, Ron. Okay…?" Harry asked gently, voice breathy with fear, fear of what he did not know. Why the hell was he so confused?

Hermione agreed, watched as Harry drew himself up before he offered forth his hand and assisted his lady to her feet.


	11. The Breaking of Harry

_**Chapter Eleven– The Breaking of Harry**_

Hermione found Mrs Weasley absently getting the decorations and dance pavilion ready for Harry's birthday party, which so many of his friends had turned up to celebrate. Mrs Weasley looked up to see her two children, not in marital sense, but in the sense of her heart, wandering together, hand in hand with an aura of love surrounding them that the wise ol' mother couldn't help but smile to see.

"Hello…" Molly chimed with affection, spotting how Harry let go of Hermione's hand, and subconsciously shook her head in exasperation. He'll get used to it in time.

"Hello, Mrs Weasley…" Hermione said tenderly before asking where they might find the third party of their trio.

"Oh… Ron left to fetch the Lovegood's. They've not returned our invitation, but you know what Errol is like? I'm sure they will be coming."

Harry turned to face Hermione and smiled, offering his lover a wink of good fortune.

"We'll go too," Harry stated with unrelenting determination. "Ron could do with a kick up the arse."

"Whatever do you mean?" Molly questioned in concern. She knew Harry was a strong and powerful wizard, but his tone and his words were so strange for him that she worried he might have rage towards her youngest son.

"Luna's had a thing for Ron for ages," Harry informed his paternal figure with a mischievous chuckle. "It would be nice for him to have a girl friend."

"Really…?" Molly gasped in wonder and surprise. She had always liked Luna Lovegood and the thought of accepting her into the family was a pleasant notion. "You'll need a portkey. Or are you going to take brooms?"

"We'll take a key, Mr Weasley should be able to help us with that, shouldn't he?"

"Of course," Molly stated with perfect truth. "Go and see him, make sure Ron doesn't start dawdling. Okay?"

"Okay." Both Harry and Hermione pecked Mrs Weasley on the cheek before heading off towards the garage to speak with Ron's father.

* * *

Ronald Weasley set his Cleansweep 11 down on the grounds of the Lovegood's abode. The joy of flying had done much to cleanse his mind of his rage, his anger at the fact that Harry had beaten him once again.

Ron hated to think of his friend as a rival, but in a world where all that he knew was rivalry, it was difficult not to associate even friendship with that unfortunate aspect of life. Harry was everything the youngest Weasley son could ever want to be. Rich, famous, with a great broomstick and now the love of a gorgeous girl. Was it such a bad thing for Ron to want to be better than the sum of his parts?

Commanding his broomstick into his hand, as he had learned correctly in his first year at Hogwarts, Ron wandered towards the Lovegood's house. The walls were of an obsidian stone, shaped in a such a way that it looked almost cylindrical in form. It would take a deep essence of mind to see something other than just stone and its little stream, but he wondered what Luna saw when she returned home after another year at Hogwarts?

Ron was just about to climb up the slight stairs that lead to the front door when it opened and the headstrong youth suddenly did a double take.

A girl stood with her back to him, speaking within the house to some unknown person. She wore dress robes of pink and yellow, each adorned in a soft and wispy nature. The dress allowed secret glimpses of her long, lean legs through the floaty, yellow fabric. The girl suddenly turned to face him, and her smile was as radiant as ever.

"Lu… Loony?" Ron gasped in sudden recognition, feeling his heart suddenly pound like a jackhammer and his blood to run hot. When in the world did she become so hot?

"Hello, Clíodhna…" Luna said, bouncing on her toes down the steps, almost as her very stroll were a dance. Ron frowned in shock, _the girls bloody barking_. But he could not deny she looked so good in those dress robes.

"Hi… Luna…?" Ron said, hand behind his head, stomach suddenly alive with butterflies.

Luna lifted her eyebrows at the sight of him.

"Hello, Ronald!" She chimed, almost as if she had only just noticed him. Ron grimaced at this girl's obvious insanity. But where once he would have mocked her, suddenly, as if his mind had been cleared of hurtful judgementations, Ron found he did not want to mock this girl anymore.

"Ready for Harry's party?"

"Yeah…" Ron said, suddenly finding himself lost for words. What the hell was wrong with him? This was Loony Lovegood.

"Ahh, Ronald Weasley…" Xenophilus Lovegood suddenly appeared at the crest of the very steps his daughter had just descended. Like his daughter, the man radiated an aura of eccentricity and good will. He wore a ruffled shirt, putting Ron in mind of the ancient, Renaissance style getups some of the portraits wore at Hogwarts. His trousers were of an off brown, and at his head, atop his wealth of pale hair, he wore a feathered Cavalier hat.

"Good to see you, my boy." Xenophilus offered Ron his hand, to which the young man shook with as much gusto he could muster. It felt like he was meeting the man for the first time since his daughter had brought him home for _the talk_.

"Shall we be off. We do not want to miss the festivities."

"Oh, I don't think you'll be having much time for festivities…" A horrible, mocking sneer suddenly resounded from behind Ronald on the grounds of the Lovegood's abode. Ron knew that voice, Luna knew that voice and they wheeled and lurched to sight ten Death Eaters suddenly appear in wisps of shadow, their black robes forming from the ether as they saw Bellatrix Lestrange leering at the front of the band.

Her eyes were as black as ever, her face once so beautiful, now tainted by her existence in Azkaban. Her hair was as wild and disturbed as she herself, with a shock of white that spoke of her broken, unhinged mind.

Ron drew himself in front of Luna protectively, arm crossing her fame to which Bellatrix cocked her hip and toyed with her short, crooked, wand.

"Aww… 'ittle Ronny wants to protect the consort."

Consort? What did that mean?

Xenophilus, realising that these people were not here on friendly means, suddenly drew his wand from within his cloak. Bellatrix snapped her wand like a viper.

A stream of crimson light suddenly rushed from her weapon, striking his wand and sending it spinning through the air. A damn disarming spell.

"Do not be so foolish, old man!" Bellatrix cackled in her deranged, mocking laugh. "All we want is your daughter. The rest of you can have some time with _me_ …"

Fear flooded Ron at the horrors found in that statement.

The legends of Bellatrix's cruelty, of her skill with the Cruciatus Curse, was the stuff of nightmares. Ron knew he would be foolish to go for his wand, but he could not just sit here and let Luna be taken.

Bellatrix saw the light of defiance in his eyes and an evil grin split her face.

* * *

The whirling array of Portkey transportation suddenly stopped for Harry and Hermione, much to the relief of their stomachs. The flurry and rush of wind suddenly stopped pounding in their ears. But the sound that greeted them after was a much more terrifying resonance.

The sound of screams. Of horrid, tortured, screeches tore through the wilderness like that of a tormented spectre.

Both Harry and Hermione recognised that voice.

"Ron!?" Harry roared, erupting to his feet and seeing the gang of Death Eaters gathered before the Lovegood abode. Ron's screams suddenly ceased, the Death Eaters turning to sight Harry and Hermione charging towards their ranks.

They parted like some hellish miracle to unveil the body of their friend, twitching and writhing at the feet of Bellatrix Lestrange. Luna Lovegood was now released from Dolohov, herself falling to her knees beside Ron, cradling him desperately as the band of Death Eaters ravelled in the misery and pain they saw before them.

Harry suddenly ceased in his charge of the Death Eaters. Halting in abrupt shock as his eyes centred on Bellatrix. Ron's torturer suddenly looked towards him and her eyes widened with infernal relish.

"Harry… Potter…"

Hermione tried to comfort Harry, to sooth the anger she could already feel boiling over inside the body of the man she loved. But shut out her affections, dismissed her offered hand as he stood, lost to his rage, unable to speak, unable to see, unable to even breathe.

Bellatrix's brow knitted mockingly at the rage she saw in the face of this pathetic little boy.

"What's wrong, 'ittle Harry? Still pining over my dear cousin? Perhaps I'll kill that little Mudblood too? Then I could _really_ watch you squirm."

The veil between the Realm and reality severed with those very words.

A beat, a heart began to pound. Slow and ominous within Harry. But it was not his own heart. No. This was something different. Something dark, something twisted, something beyond evil.

Hermione tried to comfort him. Tried. She so desperately tried, but Cethlenn drew her away. She couldn't reach him. Couldn't feel him. Harry was dying, venturing into a place only the Gods truly knew.

Tendrils of shadow began to snake and wisp form his form, leaking from his very skin as his body struggled to contain the destructive force now raging within him. Hermione fought desperately against Cethlenn, trying to help, trying to get to her Harry though in reality all she did was draw back in quiet acceptance.

The Death Eaters couldn't see it! Couldn't see the sheer danger they were in. They began to laugh.

 _Stop Laughing! Stop Laughing!_

Hermione screamed! Though no one heard her words. They did not even leave her corporal form. In the real world Harry's body had begun to twitch, to tremble in a fury Bellatrix seemed to find so utterly amusing. She did not think he was changing, did not think that a force beyond anything she could ever imagine was slowly being unhinged before her very eyes.

Now Harry heard the words. Words that had plagued his mind since that first day he had heard them. But they were no longer alien, no longer vague and indistinct. He heard them as clear as day and as ominous as death himself.

' _The demon has finally awoken from its slumber! The demon has opened its eyes…'_

Harry's entire soul suddenly collapsed, broken, severed, and was placed in _The Hole_.

The Death Eaters saw Harry Potter dwindle and collapse, legs only keeping him standing through sheer will alone.

Then Bálor drew forth one, long, final, breath.


	12. The Beast Unleashed

_**Chapter Twelve – The**_ _**Beast Unleashed**_

Bálor roared.

Thunder rent the heavens in a hellish scream of rage. The sky blackened. The Earth quailed.

The Demon King charged.

The Death Eaters now saw him. Saw not the form of 'ittle Harry. But a manic, infernal, God!

His skin was the colour of the deepest shadows, his eyes were milky white as if blinded by some terrible blaze. But he saw. Saw not through the eyes of his body, but the single, _evil_ eye which was now open at the fore of his brow.

Those who saw into that eye crashed from earth with a smiteful surge of power. Their souls dismissed to Uffern as the Demon King bore upon these mortals with inhuman speed. Bálor leapt forth in his charge, driving both his feet straight into the chest of Antoni Dolohov.

The man flew backwards.

 _Smash!_

Dolohov's body smashed through the heart of the Lovegood's abode, the impact shattering stone, mortar and wood as Dolohov's body exploded in an eruption of gore.

 _'That was for Hermione!'_

Bálor erupted to his feet.

The Death Eaters attacked.

Streams of green light streaked and flared towards Bálor. The Demon King slipping and dodging, his body moving with such grace and speed that his body seemed to break, streams of his frame leaving behind visual echoes of himself, the killing curses sailing right through them. Bálor spread his arms aloft and bore down upon a second foe.

The Death Eater quailed, shit and faeces running out down his leg as he stood paralysed with fear. The God smashed his fist into the mortal's face, breaking not only his frame, but destroying the very essence of his soul.

Bálor, gaze turned towards his flank, evil eye glinting and his smile malicious and depraved. Bálor leapt into the air, flipping gracefully into a ball before landing on his feet behind two Death Eaters. His arms gripped them like a vice around their throats, crushing their larynxes as he bowed their bodies backwards. The Death Eaters arms flailed desperately, Bálor's evil eye meeting Bellatrix as he used his ungodly strength to lift her companions clean from the earth. Bálor held the pair of humans suspended for an age, before he slipped his feet away and drove their bodies back down into Earth, breaking their frames and rending the very surface of the planet.

Some Death Eaters saw the true force they faced, and took flight, Bellatrix, to the rage of Bálor, being one of them as they disapparated in terror at the sight of the unhinged Demon King. Those that stayed behind to fight were more foolish than brave.

A masked Death Eater felt insanity claim him as all he could do was try and prolong his life. He charged Bálor. The Demon King gazed at this foolish man with malevolent intent, but he valued bravery, as such he would have a fitting end.

Bálor leapt into the air, body coiling around the form of the desperate Death Eater, spinning gracefully so he took his back, free arm now coiling around the man's throat, crushing his windpipe, before crashing his body to the earth in a flamboyant Slingblade.

The earth erupted upon impact with the Slingblade, Bálor sending the man's soul to the depths and reducing his corporeal body to little more than minute flecks of crimson gore.

One of the Death Eaters Bálor had previously struck began to stir, arching his broken body and attempted to crawl to safety.

The Demon God tilted his head curiously.

Did he really think he could flee?

Bálor charged the humbled Death Eater, the destructive God bearing down upon him as he unleashed a roar of fury. The Demon King lashed out his foot with merciless intent, crashing his foot into the man's face and ripping his head from his shoulders.

Gore splattered the earth mother, the soil drinking it like parched sand.

Bálor's body ran red with blood, his evil eye glinting putridly and his body absorbing the very essence of the souls he smote around him.

Streams of green energy suddenly streaked towards Bálor, the God turning to gaze languorously towards this new foe. His body moved with inhuman speed, so quick this foolish mortal could not even contemplate the pace.

His evil eye blinked.

Bálor began to _flee_.

The Death Eater felt sudden strength fill his soul as he chased down the insane God, sending streaks of death streaming for his back. His aim was wild and array, or was Bálor too quick? He did not know, all he knew was this the Demon King was heading straight for a dead end, and he allowed himself to feel the complete rush of triumph.

The Dark Lord would be so pleased with him!

Bálor did not seem to stop as he rushed headlong towards the wall of the Lovegood's now shattered home. Instead, he leapt into the air, feet scaling, _scaling_ the walls like it was nothing more than a continuation of his flight. The Death Eater suddenly reeled and tried to retreat.

He had been suckered into a trap.

The King of the Demons suddenly twisted his body in a coil of flamboyance, arms spread wide like an angel of death as he turned a summersault before driving his heel straight into the brow of this foolish Death Eater, itself as graceful a whisper in the wind.

The buffoon's eyes paled, his world collapsed, and the force of Bálor's strike rent the very essence of his sanity. This whelp would not have the satisfaction of being dismissed to Uffern. No, he would exist in this world as nothing more than a broken wretch, blind, deaf and dumb, a babbling wreck of his former self, lost to the dregs of insanity and all who looked upon him would know: _this is Yaxley, the fool who thought he could kill the Demon King_.

Bálor stood in the centre of his wrath, seeing death and damnation strewn in his wake. Some of these people he had spared. Someone had to tell those fools that he had been reborn. Had returned to the world to continue the fight they had started long before _this_ world had been even set.

His true eye found his consort and Cethlenn smiled in her acceptance of his rage. He knew she did not agree with his anger, did not wish for him to destroy and break these _so-called_ innocent people. But a mortal had threatened his wife, his lover and his light, without her... Bálor did not want to think what would happen.

No, Bálor would break Bellatrix Lestrange for that threat. Be it now, or be it an eternity. Bálor had sworn a blood oath, and Bellatrix Lestrange was as good as dead. Was better off, _being_ dead.

Cethlenn crossed the battlefield towards her lover, her eyes of deepest blue meeting the evil eye of her lord and husband. She was the only one who could gaze into the depths of his soul and not be torn asunder. She was the only one who could calm him, who could ease the terrible anger raging within him.

Cethlenn cupped his face with her hands, pressed her brow to the depths of that evil, disease ridden eye, and set forth all of her affections, all her love, all her goodness into the very soul of her lover. She began to sooth the very essence of his rage, soothing the destructive power of The Demon King.

Bálor's corporal form began to fade, Cethlenn also returning to _The Realm_ when her task was complete.

Slowly all that was left were Harry and Hermione. The two mortals whose body's fate had decreed to be their vessels in this eternal war. Harry's body trembled with convulsions, Hermione panting desperately as her hands quivered at his cheeks.

His lips claimed her, hesitantly, desperately, seeking any contact with goodness, any sense of love as his body, his soul began to rent.

Ron and Luna rushed towards their friends, Hermione holding her lover strong as he looked around at the destruction he had caused, as he struggled to come to terms with what he had done

The young man, as all who bore the Line of Bálor, reacted as all who bore such strength.

Words of comfort, words of praise were passed towards Harry, though his young ears would not listen. Harry began to babble, breaking down as tears streamed from those bright green eyes... upon the crest of the hill overlooking the battlefield, one warrior observed in awe. And a man, who fancies himself a God… feels a very human chill crawl up his spine.


End file.
